


Put your money where your mouth is

by valdomarx (cptxrogers)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Blow Jobs, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/valdomarx
Summary: Geralt lets himself be goaded into a stupid bet with Lambert. He really only has himself to blame for what happens next.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 13
Kudos: 286





	Put your money where your mouth is

**Author's Note:**

> I will make this ship happen, alone if I must.
> 
> Translation into Russian available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9407902). Thank you JaneBanks!

“Damn it, Lambert, it’s your turn to clean up this mess.”

“I’m busy, Geralt, do it yourself.”

“Sitting on your arse and eating grapes does not count as being busy.”

“I’ll spar you for it.” Lambert’s eyes flash. “First on the ground loses.”

Geralt sighs. Sometimes it’s easier to go with Lambert on these things. “If we must. I’ll put you down, and _then_ you can clean the damn armor.”

“And if I win?”

“Not likely.”

“Then you can suck my dick.”

“Very mature.”

“I’m serious,” Lambert leers. “Why, are you worried you’ll lose?”

Geralt has never lost a sparring match with Lambert in his life. “You’re on, jackass.”

They strip to shirts and trousers and fetch the practice swords from the armoury, heading to a courtyard in the grounds.

Lambert is a fine swordsman, but Geralt is better and they both know it. They circle each other, Lambert making a few faints which Geralt ignores. He waits, chooses his moment, and lunges forward in attack. Lambert staggers back but manages to parry, keeping his footing. Geralt weaves to one side, swinging back for another blow. 

Lambert catches his thrust against his crossguard, and for a moment their swords are locked together. “You look good when you pout,” Lambert says, licking his lips. “Can’t wait to see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”

And that’s… it’s just Lambert being Lambert, insufferable prick as always. But there’s something about the glint in his eye, that godsdamn smirk on his face, and Geralt can’t help but picture it: getting on his knees, Lambert threading a hand through his hair, the breathy noises he’d make as Geralt swallows him down…

Geralt loses focus, just for a moment, but that’s enough. Lambert pounces, feinting to one side and lunging to the other, bringing his sword down in a slash as he loops a foot around the back of Geralt ankle and _shoves_.

The next thing Geralt knows, he’s on his back in the dirt and Lambert is straddling him, an unbearably smug look on his face.

“My, Geralt, it’s almost as if you let me win. If you wanted to suck my dick that badly, you could have just asked.”

“Very funny,” he huffs, trying to push Lambert off him. But Lambert grabs his wrists and slams them into the ground over his head, and he’s suddenly distracted by the close press of their bodies.

“Who’s laughing?” Lambert is looking at him in a way that he can only interpret as _hungry_. “You lost the match, and now it’s time to pay up.”

This has gone far enough. Geralt doesn’t need this shit today, isn’t in the mood for Lambert’s barbs. “Get the fuck off me,” he snarls.

Lambert’s lip curls. “You get me off first. That was the deal, remember?”

Geralt may not be in the mood for this, but apparently his body isn’t so restrained. Lambert’s weight on him, the way his wrists are pinned down, the fact Lambert won’t shut up about his godsdamn cock, it’s having an effect on Geralt he really hopes Lambert won’t notice, or he’ll truly never hear the end of it.

Lambert rolls off him with a snort and Geralt tells himself he’s pleased by that, not disappointed. “Should have known you’d be the type to renege on a bet,” he sneers. He’s so damn haughty, it makes Geralt’s skin crawl.

He’s striding away, off to pack up the swords, and Geralt sits up and wonders why he feels so foolish.

“Who said I’m reneging?” The words are out of his mouth before he has time to think about them.

That gets Lambert’s attention. He turns, slowly, and gives Geralt an assessing look. “Gonna suck my cock then, pretty boy?”

He’s _so sure_ Geralt is going to cave. Well, he’s not the only one who can play that game. “Said I would, didn’t I?”

Lambert takes a few steps closer. “You are full of surprises today.”

“Name the time and the place.” Geralt will get to taunt Lambert about this for weeks once he backs out.

“So eager for it. Why not right here and right now?”

Shit. Geralt hadn’t anticipated that. “Right here in the courtyard?”

“Why not? Worried someone will see you on your knees? You can tell them you were meditating.”

“With your cock in my mouth?”

“It’s one way to achieve inner serenity.”

Geralt is committed to this now, he supposes. He pushes himself to his knees and crawls over to Lambert, and with satisfaction he hears the hitch in Lambert’s breath as he does.

He sits back on his heels, looking up at Lambert with a defiant challenge. Expecting at any moment to be called off, he slowly, slowly raises his hand. Runs his fingers up Lambert’s thigh, down the v where his legs meet his torso, cups Lambert through the fabric. He’s half hard already. Gods.

Lambert makes no move to stop him, so he boldly rubs his face against Lambert’s trousers, thin enough that he can feel his cock through them. He smells good, actually. For all that Lambert is a lazy bastard about cleaning up his space, he does take care of himself, and Geralt can detect the heavy sandalwood oil he puts on his skin beneath the musky scent of arousal.

Lambert still hasn’t stopped him, which is unexpected. Time for more severe moves, then. He rubs his cheek against Lambert’s cock and Lambert lets out a string of expletives. Geralt smirks, glad to feel like he finally has the upper hand. “Are you going to get your cock out for me, then?” he asks, smug as can be. “I can’t very well suck it otherwise.”

“Fuck.” Lambert’s eyes are wide. “You’re serious.”

Geralt shrugs. He’s not going to be the one to back down from this. “We had a deal. Though if you’d rather not collect…”

“Fuck, shit, yeah, okay.” Lambert’s fingers tremble just a little as he unlaces his trousers and takes out his cock, slender but long and temptingly hard.

If Geralt had been considering begging off their bet before, he’s reconsidering that position now. He likes seeing Lambert this unwound, wants to know how far he could take this, whether he could make Lambert curse and beg for it. 

He looks up at Lambert to check one last time. He might enjoy teasing him but he didn’t truly want to make him uncomfortable. But Lambert looks anything but uncertain, stroking himself off with one hand and running a finger down Geralt’s cheek with the other in a way that could almost be described as tender.

Are they really doing this? Looks like they’re doing this.

Here goes nothing…

Geralt takes most of Lambert’s length into his mouth in one go, and Lambert swears most colourfully. Geralt bobs his head, gentle at first, feeling out what Lambert likes and where he’s sensitive.

When Geralt runs his tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock, Lambert grabs his head and tangles his fingers into his hair, and yeah, he could get into that. He does it again and Lambert _yanks_ , sending Geralt’s scalp tingling and causing him to moan around his mouthful of cock.

“You like that, huh?” Lambert pants, and Geralt is pleased to note his voice is wavering. He does like that, as it happens, so if Lambert wants to pull his hair a bit while they’re at it he’s not going to complain.

Some more experimentation demonstrates that Lambert likes it when he sucks at the head, messy and sloppy, and that he makes the most enticing noises when Geralt looks up at him as he does so. Their eyes meet and Lambert nearly loses it right there, judging by the way his hips stutter.

When he swallows him down almost to the root Lambert bucks into his mouth, knocking up against the back of his throat and Geralt would be choking but his body is used to far more taxing challenges than this, so he encourages Lambert to take what he wants, letting him thrust into his mouth in sharp, hard bursts.

Geralt relaxes into that dreamy place where his body is a tool, a thing for pleasure, and all he must do is be good and provide that. Lambert fucks into his mouth as he holds his head in place, and it doesn’t take long before his thrusts become less coordinated, his fingers more grasping, the building of his release written in his taught muscles. 

Geralt smiles, or he would smile were his lips not stretched wide, and brings his hand up to cup Lambert’s balls and to do this delightful trick that a whore in Novigrad had showed him on one memorable occasion. He lets his fingers slide back to just behind Lambert’s balls and pushes on the sensitive skin there.

Lambert makes a garbled sound that could be Geralt’s name and comes in his mouth, dripping thickly down the back of his throat. 

Geralt sits back on his heels, wipes the come dripping down his chin on the back of his sleeve, and smirks.

Lambert looks like he’s just taken on a whole pack of griffins by himself, sweat dripping down his face and eyes wild. He shoves himself back into his trousers and offers a hand to Geralt, pulling him to his feet.

They’re both a little wobbly, and Lambert catches him around the waist when he stumbles. This close, he can see the flecks of gold in Lambert’s eyes and feel the way they bodies fit together, pressed chest to toes.

“You’re…” Lambert is breathing heavily. “Good at that.”

“I’m good at lots of things,” Geralt reminds him. He’s achingly hard in his trousers and is looking forward to taking care of that in a long, lazy bath. He starts to disentangle himself from Lambert, who he’s sure will want to get back to gloating or lounging or whatever the hell else he does as soon as possible.

“Wait.” Lambert’s hand shoots out and closes around his wrist. "Can we…” He chews his lip, an old nervous tick Geralt hasn’t seen him do in years. “I mean, if you’d like to… Seems only fair that I should return the favour.”

Oh? Well, that’s not an unappealing prospect. Geralt considers, and decides. “Tonight?”

Lambert smiles, and it’s full of promise in a way that makes Geralt’s toes curl. “Tonight.”


End file.
